Misery Loves Company
by Raiast
Summary: Fresh out of Arkham, Joker sets his sights on singer Deirdra Casey, positive that there's something special about her past...Joker/OC rated M for strong language, eventually dark themes and you know it! the nas-tay  P
1. The Beginning is the End is the Beginnin

The nightclub had changed since he'd last been there. Not in location or appearance. It even held the same dark vibe. But everything just seemed..._more_. More low-level thugs, more thrashing masses worshiping yet another goth metal band. More noise, more smoke, more darkness.

Perhaps he'd just been in Arkham too long. One month of white walls was more than enough for the Joker, and it had taken four months before anyone had let down their guard enough to give him an opportunity to escape.

But escape he did (as if they could keep him anywhere he didn't want to be), just over a week before this particular trip to his favorite haunt.

Acid Burn, the most exclusive underground club in Gotham, was particularly busy this evening. Muse was doing a show, and the usually comfortable and spacious club was packed from wall to wall with bodies eagerly awaiting the band. It was for this reason that the Clown Prince of Crime himself was able to sit among them, hidden away in a back corner, shrouded in shadows.

The chaos was nice, after the solitude of the Asylum, and Muse was good band, in his opinion. These things helped to keep him seated nicely in his chair while nursing his whiskey, though he was feeling incredibly restless. One gloved hand of fingers drummed on the table under them in an irritated fashion. The other clutched a glass, half full of the strongest whiskey available, and slid it in aimless circles before him, pausing occasionally to raise said whiskey to his lips to take a sip. He chewed on the edges of his scars alternatively in a habitual manner, his dark eyes boring into the table in front of him. He hoped Muse was going on soon, because he wasn't sure how much longer he could go without stirring up some trouble. He needed a distraction...

One presented itself immediately, as the owner of the club, Ty Thatcher, hopped onto the stage and introduced the opener; a name he didn't recognize. It seemed she had a slight following, as many of the females packed before the stage cried out in approval as the girl stepped onto the stage. Xylophone notes soon sounded; a stream of steady, staccato notes. After several beats it was joined by a dark sort of techno sound and several female voices. Joker glanced to the stage, discovering three other women on stage beginning the song, while the one off to the side was now playing a harpsichord, her blond hair obscuring her face as she stared at the keys before her intensely.

_Lolita, Lolita_, the women on stage and in the crowd were singing, nearly chanting. _Lolita, Lolita._

_How old are you?  
>I'm older than you'll ever be.<em>

Dark eyes were drawn to her immediately, the blond that had been nearly off the stage was, in fact, the main attraction. He could tell, not only by the crowd's reaction as she began the first verse, but because of her voice. That dark voice, so full of confidence and anger and disgust. It was her commanding voice that sparked the Joker's interest.

_I've been dead a thousand years,  
>and lived only two or three.<br>I don't mind telling you  
>my life was ended by your hand<em>

She moved away from her instrument as she claimed the microphone from the stand in front of her, weaving in between her back-up singers as she made her way toward the center of the stage, her head bowed, eyes on the first few rows of the crowd.

_The kind of murder where nobody dies  
>But I don't suppose you'd understand...<em>

He didn't know how, but pain actually seemed to _tear _through her voice as she raised her head slowly, eyes squeezed shut. Her blond locks stayed stubbornly in front of her face, until she jerked her head as an angry chorus began, her growling voice joined by many in the audience.

_If I am Lolita  
>then you are a criminal,<br>And you should be killed by  
>an army of little girls.<br>The law won't arrest you,  
>the world won't detest you,<br>You never did anything  
>any man would do.<em>

As a "psychotic serial killer/sociopath" (as they labeled him; he wasn't much into labels himself), the Joker wasn't exactly the type of guy to be shocked by a lot of things. So the sensation that made his heart hammer and stomach plummet was a strange one, but it filled him nonetheless as his vision locked on the singer's mouth. Plump and pouted lips, painted a deep crimson, and, from the right corner of her mouth, a jagged scar that ran up to her cheekbone. As she continued the chorus, her lips pulled back over angrily bared teeth, twisting the scar and making it appear as even more of a deformity.

_I'm Gothic Lolita  
>and you are a criminal,<br>I'm not even legal  
>I'm just a dead little girl.<br>But ruffles and laces  
>and candy sweet faces<br>directed your furtive hand  
>I perfectly understand.<br>(It's my fault, Gothic Lolita)_

He wanted her immediately, he recognized. _Needed_ her, really. She had a story, and he wanted to hear it. He watched from the shadows, his eyes never leaving her pale face, and started really listening to the words she was singing.

_Thank you, kind sirs  
>You've made me what I am today.<br>A bundle of broken nerves  
>a mouthful of words I'm still afraid to say.<br>I don't mind telling you,  
>Now that I'm old enough to lie;<br>I couldn't begin to even if  
>my pretty life depended on it.<br>And funny thing,  
>it does...<em>

They began the chorus again, but everything was starting to fade as he studied the woman before him. He eyed the gash that marred half of her beautiful face while his tongue poked at his own absentmindedly. Curiosity niggled at his brain as he wondered how she had obtained such a..._unique_ scar.

It took the harsh and rapid notes of a new song beginning for Joker to realize that he hadn't been in the nightclub at all, but in a dark alley, kneeling in blood, hands bound-

_It's not the time,  
>It's not the place,<br>I'm just another pretty face  
>So don't come any closer.<br>You're not the first,  
>You're not the last,<br>How many more?  
>Don't even ask<br>You're one more dead composer._

In one swift movement Joker downed the rest of his whiskey, dropping the empty glass to his table with a thud, and stood from his seat, scanning the corners of the room. With his destination set, he began sliding through the mass of bodies, his unpainted face bent low. He picked a trail slowly, not one person giving him a second glance.

_Misery loves company  
>and company loves more,<br>More loves everybody else  
>but hell is others.<br>_

_I'm not for you,  
>You're not for me,<br>I'll kill you first,  
>You wait and see<br>You devil undercover.  
>You're not a prince,<br>You're not a friend,  
>You're just a child<br>and in the end  
>You're one more selfish lover.<em>

He was halfway across the room and very tempted to start stabbing people out of his way. Taking an (attempted) calming breath, Joker began to push through with slightly more force and seemed to actually pick up momentum.

_Do I need you?  
>Yes and no.<br>Do I want you?  
>Maybe so.<br>You're getting warm  
>You're getting warm<br>You're getting warmer, oh,_

"Hello, _Tybalt_," he greeted cheerfully as he finally reached his target against the far wall between the stage and bar. "I see business is, uh _booming_, hm?"

The man's lips twisted into a half-scowl, half-smirk. "Heard about the breakout. What took you so long to get out here?"

"Been keepin' one of those _low profiles_," Joker explained, stepping closer so he didn't have to shout so loud over the music. Unlike countless others, this particular acquaintance didn't flinch away or react at all as the clown closed the distance between them. "But enough about _me_. Tell me about _her_," he jerked his head in the direction of the stage, eyes set on the man before him.

The club owner grinned, leaning forward with a cocky smirk, "I had a feeling you'd be interested in her. Hell of a singer, isn't she?"

His attention had, once again, been captured by the mystery on stage.

_You're so easy to read  
>but the book is boring me,<br>You're so easy to read,  
>but the book is boring me<em>

"Her name is Deirdra," Tybalt supplied after a moment, pulling a small notepad and pen from the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket.

"Stage name?" Joker wondered out loud, watching the girl in question stalk about the stage.

"Nope, given. Likes to go by Dee," Ty corrected.

"A local?" he questioned, glancing back to Ty to find him scribbling something down on a piece of paper.

"Yeah," he answered as he wrote. A moment later he was tearing the paper out and pushing it into Joker's hand.

He worked his scar between his teeth as he scrutinized the note:

_Deirdra Casey, 24  
>West Harlow<em>

"I don't know her exact address but I know she lives in West Harlow," Ty informed him. "She's played here half a dozen times now. I don't think she's too far though. She always walks home after her gigs; leaves from the back."

"Well isn't that..._daring_," the Joker muttered as his eyes inevitably found her again. She was finishing up her song now, the crowd in fits, practically screaming with her.

_Pray for me  
>if you want to,<br>Pray for me  
>if you care,<br>Pray for me  
>if you want to,<br>Pray for me, you fucker,  
>if you fucking dare!<em>

The audience continued their cheering as the women on stage bowed and thanked them before exiting off the side of the stage, slipping backstage to their dressing room. Distraction now absent, Joker turned back to the man before him.

"You're a good man, Ty," he thanked, clapping him on the back, perhaps a little rougher than necessary. "Remind me to throw you a bone when I get up and running again, hm?"

"Certainly will, J," the club owner smiled appreciatively at the clown whose presence causes so many others to cower in fear.

He eyed the stage briefly, wishing that it had been only her on stage and now back in the dressing room. Seeing that a meeting would have to wait, Joker began to pick his way through the mess of bodies (now screaming in approval as Muse made their appearance), toward the exit this time.

The chilly air was refreshing and revitalizing after the stuffy heat of the packed nightclub; Joker tipped his head to the sky and took a deep breath. A quick glance up and down the alley showed it deserted. The hidden club resided in the heart of Downtown Gotham, but the area was always free of traffic at night. Though it was a relatively easy place to arrive at, it wasn't so easy to actually get in the doors. Most of the city didn't even know of its existence; where Acid Burn was concerned you'd either been there, or never heard of it.

He set about locating the door from which the singer would be leaving. Having found it, he leaned against a wall right around the corner, settling into the shadows. Then, he waited.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Are you _sure_ you won't stay and drink with us?" Veronica asked for the third time as Dee was stepping into her jeans.

Deirdra gave her friend a weak smile, though she was beginning to get tired of saying no. "I'm just not up to it tonight. I feel really tired."

"But..._MUSE_," Aprella protested with wide eyes. The ballerina grabbed her friend's wrists and shook them, as if trying to shake some sense into her. The act made it difficult for Dee to finish zipping up her pants. "How can you pass up a free Muse show?"

Peeling out of the girl's grip, Dee gave a shake of her head, feeling as though she were trying to explain something to a three year old. "I've been going overboard lately and you three _know _it," she informed them, shooting an accusatory glance in each of their directions. "My body is screaming at me to slow down, and tonight I have to listen. It would be no good if I got sick right before we went to London, right?"

Knowing this to be true, Deirdra's three closest friends turned backup singers finally conceded defeat. The trip was still two months away, but the small tour they were doing in England was so important for their music career that no one was willing to risk any mistakes.

"Ohh, that reminds me, Veronica!" Lucina piped up from the feinting couch that she had collapsed on. "Guess who's going to be in London for the next six months...?" her tone held great implications, hardly causing her subject of conversation to be a mystery.

"Really?" Veronica beamed, "When did you talk to Callum?"

"A few days ago. He asked how you were doing..."

Dee tuned the other girls out as she rummaged through her messenger bag. "Shit," she muttered as her search resulted in empty hands. "Anyone bring an extra shirt, per chance? I forgot one."

Her band of miscreants answered in the negative simultaneously, ushering another curse from Dee's throat.

Veronica laughed. "Just wear your corset home."

"It's like 50 degrees outside, Naughty V," Dee informed her flatly.

"Doesn't look like you've got much of a choice," Lucina pointed out. "I need a drink, 'scuse me ladies."

Dee chewed on the edge of the scar that ran up the right side of her face, her eyebrows furrowed. "Well at least I remembered pants," she caught her reflection in the mirror, probed her right cheek with her tongue.

"Yeah you could be walking home in your underwear," Veronica giggled. She gave Dee's ass a hearty slap as she passed by on her way to the door.

"Well I wouldn't want to steal your signature look," Dee threw over her shoulder, causing a cry of laughter from Aprella. In the mirror, Dee could see Veronica flick her off before blowing a kiss and dancing out the door.

"Here sweetie," Aprella appeared next to Deirdra in the mirror. "Sorry, silly I know, but it's all I've got with me," she handed Dee a mess of purple silk, and it took her a moment to figure out it was a scarf.

"Thanks, 'Prella, it's better than nothing. Go get wasted, I'm heading home."

Her friend tossed her arms around Dee's neck, planting a kiss on her scarred cheek. "You did wonderful tonight, darling. London is going to be fabulous." Following suit, Aprella landed a quick blow on Deirdra's rump before skipping out of the dressing room. "Two more months," she sang lightly on her way down the hall.

"Two more months," Dee repeated, staring at her reflection. With a sigh, she wrapped Aprella's scarf around her neck a few times. The thing was _definitely_ designed for fashion over function, but it was better than being completely exposed to the elements. Dee had never before regretted their performance costumes of fishnets, underwear and corsets, but she had also never forgotten clothes to change into afterwards.

She took one step outside and immediately shivered. With a slight growl she rubbed her bare arms briskly, setting off for home. She had just rounded the first corner out of the alley when a cool gust of wind attacked her, and Dee curled in on her self instinctively, a surprised squeak escaping her throat.

It took her a second to register the deep chuckle, but when she did she spun about until she spotted him; leaning against the wall next to her, what looked to be a hand-rolled cigarette hanging from his lips, which were twisted into a smirk and ended...

In a Glasgow smile.

Dee blinked what felt to be several times in a second before she glanced away, blushing. "You startled me," she glanced back to him, flashing an embarrassed grin.

"My apologies," he tilted his head, and blond curly locks seemed to fly everywhere. "Just enjoying the night...for which you appear severely under-dressed I might add," he eyed her with a raised eyebrow, and Dee felt her blush deepen.

"It's part of my costume...I forgot a shirt to change into..." Dee hugged her arms around herself and took a slight step toward this mystery man, her eyes disobeying a direct order from her brain and scrutinizing his scars.

He was looking down as he fished around in his pocket, but glanced up at her a moment later, offering a cigarette. "Hand-rolled natural tobacco," he advertised with a smirk, and Dee instantly had jelly legs. She accepted the smoke with a nod of thanks and he lit it for her. "It's Dee, right?"

Dee nodded as she took her first drag of the day (she had a strict 'no smoking before shows' rule). "That's me," she glanced down the road, to her feet, to her nails—anywhere but his scars. She wasn't going to stare at his scars when she was always getting annoyed of people doing the same to her. But what were the odds?

"Caught the show. You were outstanding."

Dee startled back to reality, "Oh, thank you," she glanced up and caught his eye, was then trapped staring at him stupidly. His gaze was...intense, to say the least. Dee shifted her weight, moving half an inch closer, and once more her blue eyes went rogue and drifted down to his lips. She immediately corrected this, and felt a tingle in her core when she realized that he was examining her scar as well.

They met each other's gaze a moment later and shared a small smile. He was...handsome. Incredibly handsome, scars and all. She was about to ask who he was when he straightened from his resting place against the wall.

"Well, I've got to get _going_," he informed her apologetically, "_but_, I hate the thought of such a beauty freezing in the night. _So_-" he paused and shrugged out of the dark gray jacket he was wearing. "I insist you take my coat."

He held it out to her and Dee blinked, her lips pulling into an amazed smile. "Are you serious?" she half-laughed, her smoke puffing out in a cloud. She took another quick drag and dropped the cigarette, snuffing it out with the tip of her stiletto.

"_Ever_ so, my dear," he responded earnestly, pushing the article into her hands.

"I can't just _take_ your coat," she laughed again. "Don't you need it?"

"Not really. But I come here often, so if you'd like to return it you're more than welcome," he gave a deep bow, "Have a nice night now. Do stay safe."

And then he turned and walked away casually, leaving Dee holding his coat and gaping behind him. A moment later another breeze swept down the street, and Dee shoved her arms into the shelter of the jacket. It was still slightly warm, and it smelled like cologne and...something. Something intoxicating.

She set out for home then, giving in and glancing behind her a few moments later, but finding the only other figure on the street blocks away. She wrapped the jacket around her tightly and hastened her pace, trying not to breathe though her nose.

_Who just gives someone their coat?_ Dee was still thinking. _I guess chivalry isn't dead after all._ She spent the last six blocks of her walk thinking about his smile. As she let herself into her building, methodically checked her mail, and climbed the three flights to her apartment she played his voice over and over again in her head.

_Caught the show_. That had stood out in her mind. He caught _her_ show, but didn't bother staying for Muse? _Maybe he doesn't like them_...she reasoned, then discarded that notion a second later. "No, that's stupid. Who doesn't like Muse?" she asked her front door.

Dee blinked. How long had she just been standing in the hallway in front of her door? She gave a small scoff and reached into the right front pocket of the jacket, looking for her keys out of habit. She realized the moment her hand entered the pocket that her keys weren't in there, but her fingers _did_ brush against something strange...

She _did_ actually take a moment to consider that whatever was in the pocket wasn't hers and was therefore none of her business. _However_, Dee also wagered that no one in their right mind would just hand over their jacket if they didn't want someone going through the pockets.

Curiosity winning out over morality almost instantly, her fingers grasped the object and pulled it out, eager to inspect...

A chill ran through her body and her heart flew into overdrive. She was only aware of her hands shaking because it made it difficult to read the already sloppy red print on the face of the playing card that was in her fingers. Dee stared at the dancing black jester, framed by the message:

_'Next time I want YOUR autograph'_

_ - J_

OoOoOoOoOoO

Alrighty, well that's chapter 1 in the second Joker fic I've ever done. I looooove feedback, so please review if you've got the time!

A great big thanks to Emilie Autumn, whose brilliant musical works have inspired much of this plot and my OC Dee's background. The names of Dee's three friends (Aprella, Victoria, Lucina) are all names of a few "Bloody Crumpets" that sing with Emilie Autumn, so thanks to them for having sweet names for me to use!

The two songs I used in this chapter were Gothic Lolita and Misery Loves Company by Emilie Autumn. I highly recommend giving them a listen as it's a very _unique_ type of music, and so so beautiful. Also, be my Facebook friend! My FB link is attached to my 'Homepage' button on my bio!

Finally, a great thank you to The Queen of Mean and ClownQweeny'69 for being so willing to look over my stuff and give me advice! They are both amazing writers, so you should check out their stuff as well! !**promo'd**!


	2. Pregame

A/N: Hello! Just a quick note before you get to chapter 2 (thanks for coming back!), in my last A/N I misspelled two names in my haste to get the chapter posted. _Veronica_ is the name of the third Bloody Crumpet, and go check out the works of one **ClownQween'69 **Aaaannd that's it! Have fun!

OoOoOoOoOoO

Dee had let herself into her apartment and sat down on the couch in a daze. She had been staring at that damn Joker card for nearly twenty minutes when her phone rang, scaring half the live from her. She pulled the buzzing mobile from her pocket with trembling hands; a glance to the interface informed her that Aprella was ringing.

"Hello?" Dee greeted, attempting not to sound as shaken as she felt.

"Hey, hun!" Aprella's musical voice returned the greeting with a volume level and tone that suggested the petite blond was already three sheets to the wind. "Ya get home a'right?" the peppy girl slurred, and Dee informed her that she had; in her fingers, the dancing jester mocked her. "Alright well I was jus' checkin' dear!"

They said their goodbyes (but not before Aprella sent along a message from Veronica of 'hey, slut!') and Dee ended the call, dropping both her phone and the playing card to the coffee table in front of her. She sighed and stood up, immediately sat back down and cursed, eying the card all the while.

She had been wondering who he was, and now that she knew (for Dee had no doubt in her mind that the playing card, combined with that message especially, was proof enough that he was the Joker) a hundred more questions floated through her mind. She didn't know what his game was, or why he was singling _her _out, but it was perfectly clear that they would meet again. Whether Dee wanted to or not didn't matter; he had already informed they would.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Acid Burn used to be Dee's favorite place to go. In fact, she used to call a barstool there home at least three times a week. Following her performance (and her little tete-a-tete with the Joker) Dee didn't return to the club for the next week. In fact, Dee didn't even leave her apartment for the next four days.

She slept, she watched TV, and she paced her affordable one bedroom apartment. Several times she had stomped over to where the card lay, snatched it up and held it over the garbage bin. Every time she cursed after a moment and began pacing again, depositing the playing card somewhere absentmindedly.

After 96 hours of bad television and surviving on rice and pretzels, Deirdra resolved to join the outside world once more.

"He can't know where I live," she told herself quite matter-of-factually as she applied a thick layer of charcoal eyeliner to her lids.

Carefully, she brushed her lashes with a mascara wand that lengthened and darkened them considerably. "He walked in the complete opposite direction," she pointed out.

She chewed the edge of her scar as she stared into her open closet. She decided on jeans and a t-shirt, accompanied by her red petticoat and dark gray knitted beret. "It's just a stupid playing card. It's not _that_ intimidating," Dee scoffed aloud as she pulled on her Converse hi-tops.

Still, after all her confidence and cockiness, she stood before her door, ready for the day, for a full two minutes before she placed her hand on the knob. With a deep breath, she exited her apartment, locking it up tight behind her.

OoOoOoOoOoO

She had first run the errands that she had been putting off for four days, which included making a deposit and the bank, depositing a card in the mail for her mother's birthday (which would now likely arrive a day late), and stopping by the local music store for some strings for her electric violin.

Dee spent all of this time walking about like a zombie, doing her monotonous chores in a habitual manner while her brain was still working a mile a minute over the whole...you know..._that_ situation. She could literally think of _nothing_ else. So lunch with Aprella came as a wonderful respite, during which she could sit quietly and listen to her friend dish about Veronica's latest drunken debauchery—all of which she _could_ have witnessed first hand, Aprella kept pointing out, if she had only stayed at Acid Burn a little longer the other night.

Lunch couldn't last forever, unfortunately, as Aprella soon had to be off to some appointment. Deirdra determined that it was time to buy some groceries so she could eat _real_ food that evening, and set off to the market near her apartment.

Dee weaved through the tiny aisles slowly, staring at the shelves without seeing the products lined up sloppily along them. Her mind had turned, once again, to the Joker, his coat, which hung in her closet as if it actually _belonged _there, his playing card, which mocked her even now at the grocery store. Several times she had to double back down an aisle because she had missed the item she was looking for in the first place. Eventually, Dee had collected the necessary ingredients for goulash, stew and tacos, all of which could feed her for the rest of the week. Fifty dollars and an awkward conversation later (why did clerks always have to be so _fake nice_?), Dee was trudging home, fists laden with plastic bags, all of which threatening to split at any moment (why did he pack them so _heavily_?).

Her arms were beginning to burn as she climbed the last of the steps and entered the third floor. The aching muscles in her forearms were given instant relief, however, as she dropped the bags to the ground.

Propped against the bottom of her door, a manila envelope; even from halfway down the hall she could recognize the sloppy, spindly writing on the front. Forgetting about her foodstuffs for the time being, Dee took one drawn-out step after another, eying the object with horror, as if it may suddenly explode. After an eternity she was crouching before it, hand hovering an inch away, unsure if she actually wanted to touch the thing and confirm its existence. She eyed the message on it, her stomach dropping to her feet.

_'You look good in RED...'_

A shiver ran from her tail bone to her skull, causing her teeth to chatter slightly. She knew she couldn't avoid it forever, so Dee plucked the envelope up with a sigh and stood, opening it and turning it over until a single item slipped out and fell down to her feet.

Dee glanced to the floor to see what had fallen from the envelope, now lay face down on her doorstep. She bent down to retrieve it slowly, nearly pissed herself as she turned it over and found it to be a Polaroid of herself, depositing her mother's card in the mailbox earlier that day.

She stomped the few feet back to her groceries and gathered up the bags angrily (the picture and envelope crunching in her white-knuckled fists), tears stinging her eyes. Why the _fuck_ was he following her?

She twisted her key in the lock violently, shoved the door open with so much force that it hit the wall behind it with a _bang_ and dented the plaster slightly. Dee didn't notice this immediately though, because she had dropped her groceries for a second time, her eyes locked in horror on the vase of red roses that sat arrogantly on her coffee table.

Feeling very much like she was going to lose her lunch, Dee stomped over to the coffee table and snatched up the vase of roses, fully intent on chucking them off of her balcony. Her fingers went numb when she spotted what had been sitting underneath it, however, and the smooth glass slipped from her fingers to shatter on her hardwood floor.

She paid no mind to the mess, staring now at the second manila envelope that sat on the table. Water droplets had fallen from the vase and dripped onto the message, smearing it slightly, though Dee was still able to make it out.

_'but you should SMILE more'_

She took a deep breath and opened the envelope, dumping out the contents without thinking, positive that if she did she would burn it and never find out what was in it...

Deirdra Casey soon wished she had done that. For now, staring up at her from the floor were at least a dozen pictures of herself. With trembling fingers she picked them up one by one.

One of her waiting at the bank, a slight scowl on her face as she waited in line, her arms crossed.

Three of her in the music store; browsing, conversing, paying, all with a half-frown twisting her lips.

There were five of her out to lunch with Aprella, all taken from different angles. These pictures showed her friend talking animatedly and Dee nodding, sighing, frowning.

And three of her browsing the aisles of the super market slowly. These freaked Dee out the most, as the market was barely five blocks from her apartment. He had taken these pictures, come to her home, and set all this up, probably minutes before she had gotten to her building.

She wasn't sure why, exactly, but suddenly she felt the need to check...

As Dee opened the closet in her front hallway her blood ran cold. The gray jacket she had worn home the other night, the jacket that had smelled so wonderfully arousing, the jacket that she had later discovered belonged to none other than the _Joker_...

was gone.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Dee didn't want to be in her apartment anymore. Not when there was clear evidence that _he_ had been there only minutes before her. At the same time, she didn't want to leave, terrified of what would await her when she returned. Staying at a motel was briefly considered and discarded, feeling that she shouldn't waste money on a room when she could barely pay the rent on her apartment.

She was still deciding on whether or not she should bolt when her eyes found the mess of flowers, water and glass on her floor. Crouching down slowly, mindful of the glass, she gently plucked up each of the roses; she wasn't sure why she was counting in her head, until she reached the thirteenth and final rose. She dropped them on the coffee table for the time being and next set about picking up and throwing away the larger glass shards. A broom was hastily swept over the area and then discarded in the corner as Dee remembered her cold items that needed to be put away.

She fished the first envelope and photo from the pile of groceries and set them on the coffee table with the others. As she methodically went through and unpacked her bags, Dee forced herself to sing out loud, just so she wouldn't have to think for a few moments.

_Thumbing through the pages of my fantasy,  
>Pushing all my mercy down, down, down,<br>I want to see you try to take a swing at me, come on,  
>Gonna put you on the ground, ground, ground<em>

It took her a few moments to figure out that her tone sounded weak because she was crying. "_Fuck_," she spat, wiping at her wet cheeks angrily. She sniffed and finished putting her food away in stony silence, slamming a cupboard every chance she got.

That task finally completed, Dee turned back to the living room, where the pictures and roses sat, thirteen each. Before she wanted to be, she was standing next to the coffee table; looking at the objects chilled her bones.

"What do you want?" she asked calmly out loud. "Why are you doing this?"

She stared around her apartment for a full minute in complete silence. When she decided she wasn't going to be getting an answer, she stalked to her bathroom to retrieve her metal waste bin, pulling the half-full bag out and leaving it on the bathroom floor.

She stuffed the envelopes to the bottom of the can, along with all of the pictures, except for the crumpled one. This one she glared at for a moment before flicking her lighter beneath the far corner. It lit easily, and she dropped it into the trash can. As the rest caught fire, Dee released a breath that she hadn't known she was holding.

The whole process went without mishap. Everything burned to black ashes and Dee dumped them in the toilet, replacing the bag in the can. She returned to the living room, set on tossing the roses in the garbage, or perhaps feeding them down the garbage disposal, but before she could harm a single petal she cursed and stumbled forward slightly.

"Ah, shit!" she groaned, holding her left foot off the ground slightly. She fell onto the couch and pulled her foot up. "Oh, lovely," Dee half-laughed as she discovered a small stray piece of glass nestled into the arch of her foot. She pulled it out gingerly, cursing in a manner that would make a sailor blush and hobbled to the bathroom to sat on the toilet after retrieving her first aid kit.

Once her foot had been properly sterilized and bandaged, Dee left the bathroom to find a trail of blood leading to the living room. Sighing, she retrieved a rag and followed the trail, wiping up the spots as she went. She shivered and froze as she returned to the main area of the living room. There...was that?

No, no, couldn't possibly...

But it _looked_ like a 'J', smeared on the floor in her own blood. Was she seeing things? Had that happened when she had stumbled? She moved closer slowly, wanting very much to go in the opposite direction. It _was _a line of her blood, but as she got closer she found that it didn't _really _resemble a 'J'.

"Come on, Dee, you're losing it," she muttered darkly, chewing on the edge of her scar. She finished cleaning up the blood and tossed the rag in her laundry basket. "Fine, fine, Joker-man," she grumbled as she pulled out a _very_ dusty vase from her cupboard and filled it up. "You win," she sighed as she stuck the flowers in their new home and returned them to the coffee table.

Craving a mindless task, Dee started the laundry she'd been putting off. As it washed she gave herself a pedicure and painted her toenails bright green. As it dried, she did the same for her hands, applying a layer of deep purple varnish this time. She watched television until her nails dried enough to retrieve and fold her laundry. She was just putting away her underwear when she halted, a squeak leaving her throat as her eyes fell on a playing card nestled between her thongs.

"Fucking pervert," she spat, snatching the card out and turning it over. This one held a colorful jester, his head thrown back in laughter. Cramped around the image, that all-too-familiar sloppy writing:

_'You take a GREAT photograph_

_Model my Joker-wear?'_

"What the fuck is _that _supposed to mean?" she wondered out loud, a shiver running down her spine; it seemed she was doing that a lot lately. She tossed the card to her bed and turned back to her underwear drawer. That was when she noticed it. A piece of fabric poking through her mess of underwear, colored a brilliant and, most alarmingly, _unfamiliar_ shade of purple.

Cursing steadily under her breath, she pinched the fabric and pulled it out. Yup; Dee winced. It was a thong. A bright purple thong, with an incredibly intricate 'J' in bright green on the front. She frowned, glancing from her hands to her feet. Purple and green. "Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ. This can't be happening to me."

Dee stuffed her new thong to the back of her underwear drawer, threw the rest of her laundry in their proper places and immediately stripped down for bed. She crawled into bed and shoved her face under her pillow, refusing to think about the Joker, or his _presents _(if you could _call _them that), or his _presence_ (Dee nearly gagged at the thought of him going through her knickers) in her apartment.

She wouldn't let herself think about what he wanted, or what he would do next. She denied her impulse to recall what he had looked like without any makeup on, or what his voice had sounded like. She resisted the urge to remember the look in his eyes as he studied her scar.

And she absolutely, under _any _circumstances, would _not_ think about the pleasant feeling that had buzzed in her stomach when he'd smiled at her.

OoOoOoOoOoO

She holed up for two more days, until Friday, when she received a phone call from an old friend.

"Alanna May," Dee greeted with the first genuine smile she'd cracked in a week. "How the hell are you?"

"I'm great—actually I have a rally tonight! Well, that's kind of why I'm calling..." her friend explained.

"Keep talking," Dee prompted as she moved to stand before her closet, preemptively picking out an outfit for that evening.

"Well, do you think you could come sing 'Thank God I'm Pretty'? It goes over so well-"

"Say no more, my feminist friend. You know I'll do it. When and where?"

"Oh my gosh, Dee, you are incredible! We're starting at nine and I was thinking you could help kick us off and then stay and party!" Alanna chirped. "Sooo, meet me a bit before nine at Acid Burn?"

Dee nearly dropped the phone. "Acid Burn?" she replied. "Um, y-yeah, sounds good," she stuttered, cringing and mouthing a certain curse word that would cause her mother to scrub her mouth out with soap. Of all the places to hold a feminist rally...

"Great! See you tonight!" the line went dead.

"Son of a bitch," Dee stated to the empty room.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Four hours later, Dee had showered and changed into black skinny jeans and a turquoise halter-top. She straightened her hair so that it lay in choppy locks down to her chin, rimmed her eyes with black liner and brushed her lids with a smoky charcoal gray. She coated her lips with her favorite shade of crimson and set out for the club.

After locating Alanna at the bar and taking two shots of whiskey with her, Dee was ready to get up on stage and get the show rolling. After a generous introduction from Alanna, which sent the crowd screaming for Dee (she had never seen so many chicks in Acid Burn at one time), she made her way over to the harpsichord on the left side of the stage.

She ran a few scales on the instrument and then began the first few chords of her song. "If you know this one, I want all you ladies to sing along..."

_Thank God I'm pretty,  
>the occasional free drink<br>I never asked for,  
>the occasional admission to<br>a seedy, little bar,  
>invitation to a stranger's car,<br>I'm blessed  
>with the ability to rend a<br>grown man tongue-tied,  
>which only means that when<br>it's dark outside I  
>have to run and hide,<br>can't look behind me,  
>Thank God I'm pretty.<em>

Dee was very pleased to notice that a large portion of the audience was singing along with her. She remembered the day she and Veronica had written this song, following their conversation on the stress of being a woman. She liked that it held her style and Veronica's sarcastic bite.

_Thank God I'm pretty,  
>Every skill I ever have<br>will be in question,  
>Every ill that I must suffer<br>merely brought on by myself,  
>though the cops would come<br>for someone else, I'm blessed,  
>I'm truly privileged to look<br>this good without clothes on,  
>which only means that when<br>I sing you're jerking off and  
>when I'm gone you won't remember,<br>Thank God I'm pretty._

She couldn't help but smile as she sang this song with all of these angry feminists. She looked around at her audience fondly, her fingers playing the song of their own accord. She nearly faltered as her eyes glanced the owner of the club, Ty, off to the far wall, a very familiar head of curly locks talking with him.

_And when the gaggle of faces  
>appears around me<br>it's lucky I hate to be taken seriously,  
>I bet my ego would fall<br>right through the cracks in the floor  
>if I couldn't count on men to<br>slap my ass anymore._

Dee couldn't stop her eyes from arriving at that spot every few moments, and suddenly she was staring into his black-ringed eyes. He raised his eyebrows and grinned, the slash of red across his face twisting horribly. She wasn't thinking about anything anymore, couldn't. She finished the song without even remembering doing it and said her thank yous, and suddenly she was sitting at the bar with a shot of whiskey in her hand.

She was talking to Alanna, but she didn't know what words she was saying. She was even approached by a few fans for autographs. Mostly, she sat and drank. She knew she should have just left after her song, but she did _not _want to go back to her apartment now that she was away, terrified of what she would come home to. When the bar began tilting at strange angles, Dee decided to call it a night.

After retrieving her jacket from the dressing room where she had stashed it, Dee left through the back exit, her feet sliding noisily against the pavement. After a few steps she paused. Had someone just said her name? She stepped out of the alley and onto the sidewalk with a shiver.

"Dee," a voice called behind her.

Dee froze, scared to turn around. Why hadn't she grabbed a ride from someone? Called a cab?

"Yo, _Dee_!" they called again, and recognition sparked in her intoxicated brain.

She spun around to find the familiar hulking shape of Tony, one of the club's bouncers. Hanging from his thick arm was what appeared to be an extremely inebriated brunette. "You were great tonight!"

"Thanks, Tony!" she called back, and continued on her way, the alcohol's influence calming her nerves in the most pleasant of manners. She was feeling so relaxed, in fact, that when a pair of arms flew out from a nearby alley and tugged her into the shadows she couldn't even scream reflexively.

After a second of paralyzing fear, Dee realized she was being pulled deep into the alley and began struggling wildly against her captor. The arm around her middle tightened like a vice, knocking the breath from her lungs. Not that she'd have been able to cry out anyhow; a large hand covered the entire lower half of her face, pinching her nose tightly and clamping her jaw shut.

"Let's see what we got here," she could only describe his voice as..._slimy_. Her body was spun around and slammed against the brick wall, her skull smacking against it none too gently. His wide frame was pinned against her, preventing her from moving. Dee felt bile rise in her throat as she felt his erection pressed into her thigh. Small black dots began to swim across her vision as she became increasingly light-headed.

"Shh, now," he whispered as he pulled a knife from his pocket and raised it to her face. The hand preventing her from breathing moved down to wrap around her throat. She gasped with relief and took a few deep breaths, quelled her heaving when it pushed her bosom against the man's chest. "Ugh," he scoffed and frowned, his eyes narrowing at her cheek. "Not too pretty, are we? Ah, well, as long as the _rest _of you works..."

Dee shuddered and wiggled about helplessly, but to no avail. The man only chuckled as he shifted his weight fully against her, removing his hand from her neck and replacing it with the knife. When the sound of a zipper sliding opened reached her ears, Dee doubled her efforts. "What's wrong? Not feeling friendl-" he stopped short, a strange gasp twisting from his throat, and he stiffened. The jerky movement caused his knife to trail firmly against her neck and knick the skin just above her left clavicle. She hissed slightly at the sensation, but held her breath in amazement as her would-be rapist fell to the ground.

"Did you know," a voice rang out a second later, "that a stab wound to the kidney is _so_ painful it will literally _wind_ a person, and render them unable to scream?"

She shuddered as her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, just as a familiar painted face was stepping toward her. He grinned at her, before he studied the bloody knives he was holding in each of his hands. "How about it, _Sweet_ Dee," he asked, drawing out the nickname. "Did you know that?"

Dee took a few slow steps away from the wall, her eyes also locked on the weapons in his gloved hands. "N-no," she replied after a moment. He stopped a few feet from her and pulled a white cloth from the pocket of his purple jacket.

As he sullied the pure cloth with smears of crimson, he glanced up at her, his gaze pinning her feet to the ground. "_So_," he snapped a clean blade shut and deposited one knife into his pocket. "Did you, uh, _like_ the gifts I sent?"

"Gifts," she repeated in a dazed whisper. Memories of the pictures, flowers and—_underwear_-came flooding back to her, and she frowned deeply. "_Gifts_?" she questioned sharply, her recent fear subsiding and a drunken anger beginning to burn within her.

Incredibly, Dee's level of intoxication actually allowed her anger to burst forth. "You know, 'sent' implies that I received and accepted them. _You _broke into my apartment and left them on my coffee table," a grin tugged his lips over yellowed teeth, as he examined the freshly cleaned knife in his hand, "_And _you went through my underwear drawer!" she spat, taking a bold step towards him. "Which is _not_ okay!"

He cackled, and the sound sent a strange thrill through Dee. "I didn't go _through_ it, I just went _into_ it," he corrected, and Dee gave him a pointed look to let him know that it was the same concept.

She wanted to ask what he wanted with her, but when he began closing the space between them, she couldn't help but back up...until she was pressed fully against the cool brick wall behind her. She swallowed over the lump forming in her throat, suddenly feeling impossibly sober as he closed in on her silently. When her wide eyes glanced down the alleyway to the street beyond, she didn't even have time to _think_ about running before-

"Ah, ah," he tsked at her, stretching his arm out to plant a hand by her head on the wall. "What do I want with you?" he repeated the question lowly, looking up to the sky as if he were actually considering the answer. Dee took this moment to study his painted face. Her eyes were still lingering on the ruby slash across his scars when he decided to answer. "Hm, well _first_, I suppose I'm curious about..." his eyes locked onto hers as he brought a finger up to trail down the wretched scar that marred her soft cheek, "_this_-uh," he growled, and Dee couldn't help the shudder that flew through her. He noticed, and she could tell by his smirk that he loved it. "So how about it? Where'd it come from?"

Though she felt terror trickling through her veins, Dee also felt anger and annoyance bubbling up in her chest. All of _that _to ask about her scar? _"_Where did _yours_ come from?" she countered hotly. When he just blinked at her she continued. "Oh, don't want to talk about it? Does it _bother_ you when people ask?" she asked with false concern. "That's what I thought," she finished as he stayed standing in silence. "What makes you think I'd just go telling you my sob story?"

Dee startled slightly as a growl rumbled in his chest, and suddenly his hand was wrapped around her throat. "Well the story's not all I'm after," he informed her, "though I _will_ get it eventually," he tightened his grip at this, and Dee spluttered and choked. He released the pressure, though his hand stayed in place, his fingers drumming along the side of her neck. When his eyes fell on the cut on her neck he traced a finger across it roughly. "In the _mean_time, I want to play with you."

It was clear he wasn't interested in chess or Monopoly. Rather, it sounded as if _she_ were meant to be the plaything. Dee swallowed and blinked, willed herself to wake up from this nightmare. "Play?" she somehow squeaked out.

He smiled, nodding heartily, "Mm, you like to play _games_ don't you?" his tone dared her to deny it.

There was only one thing Dee knew, and it was that she didn't want to play any game that the _Joker_ suggested. She wanted desperately to refuse, but got caught in his eyes and felt her nerve slip right out of her. "What _kind_ of game?" she was worried when his smile was the widest she'd seen it yet.

"The _fun _kind," he giggled, as if this explained everything. "And round one starts now. Tonight."

If she went along, would he leave her alone? If she won the game would he grow bored and move on? "What are we doing?" she questioned with a scowl.

"You'll be receiving my instructions _very. Soon_," as cryptic as cryptic could be, "Run along home, now," he shooed as he backed off of her. When Dee remained frozen to the spot, her eyes locked on him warily, he kicked at her like she was a stray dog.

She yelped in surprise and jumped off the wall (eliciting another chilling cackle from him), taking a few hesitant steps toward freedom. A second later he had a handful of her coat, and he was yanking her back to him, spinning her around.

"Ohh, and _Dee_, you should know: I like my games to play out _smoothly_, ya know? So if you try to _run_, or go to the _cops_, or anything _silly_ like that..." he cringed at this thought, shaking his head dismally, "you'll lose the game..." he sighed wistfully, looking off in the distance for a moment before suddenly snapping his eyes back to hers. "And I think you've already figured out you _don't_ want to lose my game."

How did his voice have the ability to make her _shudder_ like this? "And what if I just don't play?" Why had she said that? Dee yelled at her own brain internally for letting her tongue do something so stupid.

He seemed to be expecting this question at some point. "If you don't play the game, you forfeit the round. Forfeit the round and you've got to deal with the _penalties. _Play or don't, though I wish you would, but the price of a penalty can be quite _high_..."

Much like the first night, he turned away from her and strolled down the alley, swerving out of his way and taking special care to trample the body on his way. "You oughta get home," he threw back over his shoulder.

She stood in that spot until he was out of sight. When the faint sound of laughter reached her ears, she turned and sprinted home. She had expected some evidence of his presence on her doorstep, or in the living room. She found nothing. She was further relieved when her bedroom was devoid of any sign of him as well. She stripped down and changed into her pajamas, wanting nothing more than to climb into bed and pass out. She trudged into the bathroom for her nightly ritual, flicked on the light and screeched when she saw smears of red all over her mirror.

When she had calmed slightly from the shock of it, her brain was able to process that the red smears were forming letters. Further inspection found her favorite tube of lipstick lying discarded on the vanity, the crimson stick worn down to a nub.

Dee frowned and growled in dismay. Her _favorite_ one. She sighed and looked up to take in the message, knowing she'd have to see it eventually.

'_write me a SONG  
>if we'll get ALONG<br>if you don't I'll be SAD  
>and that would be BAD'<em>

"Oh, for fuck's sake. He wants me to write him _music_?" she spat as she eyed the spindly letters. That was going to be a bitch to clean off.

Weariness took an adamant hold on Dee's mind and body in that moment, and she decided to leave the mirror's cleaning for the next day. She washed her face and brushed her teeth, refusing to look anywhere but the sink as she did so.

She made a conscious effort not to worry about anything in that moment so she could just rest, and minutes later Dee was asleep.

OoOoOoOoOoO

A/N: Once again, credit and thanks to Emilie Autumn, to whom Thank God I'm Pretty belongs, which I (obviously) recommend you check out cuz it's EPIC! Sorry this took so long to get up...it's been a hectic few days and I had a little rewriting to do. I don't know for a fact if that bit about the kidney wounds is medically accurate...I had once heard that you couldn't scream if you were stabbed there, and further research only provided hazy answers. I asked in a medical forum and the only answer I received was "yes, generally any stab to the abdomen or torso can render a person speechless in the same manner of being winded". Because I was unsure, I just decided to have good ol' Mr. J stab the rapist in _both_ kidneys simultaneously. That'd render _anyone_ speechless.

Oh, and the other song Dee was singing earlier was tidbit from Thoughtless, by KoRn

I doooo so appreciate reviews! Next chapter: Round 1! =P What kinda game is he playin, anyway?


	3. Round 1  The Fun Begins

It had taken a surprisingly long time to break out of Arkham Asylum. His men had known what to do, certainly; Joker had been prepared enough in _that _respect. Unfortunately, his men were morons that couldn't decide anything for themselves, and instead of someone stepping up as a leader and taking action, they had sat idly by twiddling their thumbs until Joker had the opportunity to give them the signal. Their idiocy cost them their lives and forced his first week of freedom to be spent finding suitable replacements. But that didn't take too long; Gotham was filled with individuals who were looking for job opportunities, regardless of the details.

Other than that hang up, breaking out had been ridiculously easy. He recalled thinking that those Arkham dolts ought to be ashamed of themselves as he easily removed and reprogrammed the tracking device on his ankle. The same tracking device that had led him so easily to that little singer's home, nestled safely away in the lining of his gray jacket. Granted, it wasn't as exciting as his stunt at the Major Crimes Unit (MCU), but freedom was sweet and revenge was _sweeter_, and Joker had managed to let loose nearly three dozen inmates into the Narrows; all were high risk patients who would undoubtedly keep Gotham's finest busy for a little while.

So he was out, able to roam the streets of his beloved city once more, though not without immense restraint on his part. Everyone that cared to find him (excluding the ones that had locked themselves into their homes) was scouring Gotham high and low, and Joker was _not _keen on being apprehended again. It was only for this reason that he hadn't turned to his usual methods to entertain himself—until he had seen _her_; or rather, her _scar_. He knew he wasn't the only one in the world with a Glasgow smile, but it was nice to have the physical evidence right in front of him; that someone, at one point in time, had felt what he had felt. He scowled as his brain produced the image of her flawless cheek; who was she to suffer only _half_ as much?

He chewed his scar as he contemplated her now, his eyes narrowed at the television but unseeing. _Would she play along?_ Joker wasn't generally the kind of guy to get distracted by a broad, but he couldn't stop from wondering what kind of song, if any, she would come up with for him. His pocket began buzzing, tearing him from his thoughts. He fished it out of his pocket and flipped it open, not bothering looking at the caller ID. "Wh_a_t-ah?"

"Hey. You told me to call when I was done, so I'm just letting you know that it's all set up."

Ah, Tybalt. One person, at least, that he could count on. "G_oo_d. See ya toni_gh_t," he responded gruffly before snapping his phone shut. He glanced up from the mobile to see Patrick, one of his men, standing in the archway to the living room, looking in his direction, and entirely like he didn't want to be there. "_What_?" he snapped, and Patrick jumped and shifted his weight awkwardly. Joker couldn't help but find some small sense of satisfaction at the effect he still held on others.

"Nuthin'," he grunted, "Er, that is—that research you wanted...," his henchman stuttered dumbly, much to Joker's amusement; the Irishman usually had a slick tongue, even where his new boss was concerned. Joker leaned forward with a frown, nodding sharply for him to go on. "Well, there's no record of that girl...at least, not from before six years ago. Looks like she changed her name when she turned eighteen. Covered her tracks pretty well, too. I tried to dig deeper and couldn't find a previous alias."

Joker's eyebrows knitted together and he hummed. "Witne_ss_ Pro_tect_ion-ah?" he suggested after a moment, mostly to himself.

Patrick shrugged. "Possibly. If that's the case it means hacking the FBI mainframe for further info. That or we get our hands on someone with access to it."

"Nah, for_ge_t i_t_," Joker growled, feeling a strange frustration building in his chest. Why was he so curious, anyways? He'd see, when she plays and fails his game. He'd see then that she was just another toy; one that could be picked up and discarded as he pleased. "I'll, uh, _get _the st_or_y firs_t_ hand _later_," he turned back to the TV and his henchman took that as his cue to leave.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Dee woke early the next morning, and it took her a few moments to realize why a sick, heavy dread was pitted in her stomach. When the previous evening came flooding back to her piece by piece, she barely had time to roll out of bed before she was emptying the contents of her stomach all over the floor.

_Ah, yes, the whiskey_, she recalled with dismay, blinking back tears she couldn't control and leaning against her bed when she had finished. _And, I think...at one point bourbon too... _She gave a disgusted groan as she glanced over at the mess she'd made and pushed herself to her feet; the smell bringing on waves of nausea.

When she entered the bathroom for a rag she was greeted by the Joker's message, her stomach gave another violent churn. She dry-heaved over the sink for a moment; fruitless efforts, as her stomach was now empty. It was then that she noticed the streak of crimson that broke up her creamy flesh. Dee sighed, raising a finger to trail the mark on her collarbone, flinching a little, not expecting it to be quite so sore. She had neglected to care for it the night before, and blood had dried and crusted over the wound.

When she had cleaned up the sick all over her bedroom floor, she turned her attention to the mess on her bathroom mirror; as predicted, it wasn't an easy task cleaning all that lipstick off the reflective surface.

Finally, she was breathing steam in deeply through her nose as hot water showered down around her. She willed her muscles to relax, but each time she got halfway there her mind would turn back to his request...his _game_, and she'd give a violent shiver, seemingly every muscle in her body spasming and tensing.

_You're a person who I can't help but notice,  
><em>_Enjoys drowning into other's self-disdain,_

Dee sang as she shampooed her hair, hoping that concentrating on that would help keep other things off her mind. When she took another deep breath she could smell the scent of her citrus shampoo and continued the verse:

_Void of person—no I don't think I know you,  
><em>_Please hunt others,  
><em>_Vultures hover,  
><em>_You're stapled to your mattress._

She cleared her throat with a frown as she rinsed the last of the suds from her hair, grabbing for the conditioner. Why did that song make her think of _him_?

_I'm not afraid of standing still,  
><em>_I'm just afraid of being bored,  
><em>_I'm not afraid of speaking my mind,  
><em>_I'm just afraid of being ignored._

She tried another song as she finished washing her hair and began lathering up her loofah with vanilla body wash.

_I'm not afraid of feeling  
><em>_and I'm not afraid of trying,  
><em>_I'm just afraid of losing  
><em>_and I am afraid of dying-_

Dee broke off as a cold shudder flew through her again. Suddenly, she didn't feel like finishing that song. She spent the rest of her shower silent, thinking about the song she needed to start. After she had dried off, she took special care to drench a cotton ball with antiseptic and scrub it over the cut; flinching a little as the alcohol ran into the cut, she used another cotton ball to wipe away the blood. Inwardly she hoped she hadn't contracted something horrible by not sterilizing it right away.

After a small breakfast of buttered toast, which she had to force herself to eat, as she wasn't feeling too peckish, Dee sat at her electric piano for three hours, tapping at the keys randomly and occasionally marking things down on blank sheet music. She thought about lyrics as she did this, and had just completed her first verse when her phone began buzzing on the desk next to her. It was a number she didn't recognize, and Dee was reluctant to answer it. After five rings, she sighed and bit the bullet.

"...Hello?" she answered hesitantly.

"_Hey_, Dee. It's Ty Thatcher," an unexpected voice sounded from the other end. Dee frowned; what was the _owner _of Acid Burn calling _her _for?

"Hi, Ty...what can I do for ya?" she responded, completely unsure of what she was supposed to say to him. Wait...last night...hadn't he... _Son of a bitch, he was talking to Ty last night wasn't he? _Dee thought back, vividly remembered seeing his painted face grin at when he turned away from the man in question.

"Well, I'm doing an experimental open mic night tonight and I've got a spot open at ten...So...I just wanted to let you know," the cohort explained. Dee was already suspicious.

"...Did you want to let me know, or did someone else?" She forced the question out; she had to know if this call was a coincidence or if this was her deadline.

There was a pause, longer than the question warranted, and then, "...You're a smart girl, Dee," the statement held heavy undertones of 'don't be stupid' and Dee shivered, goose pimples rising up on her forearms. "See you tonight, don't be late," and he was off before Dee could even open her mouth.

"Yeah, see ya," she mumbled to nobody.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Acid Burn was slower than the average Saturday night. Amateurs climbed on stage and performed, eager to share their work with anyone who would listen; the usual suspects haunted the bar, each silent and staring into their drinks. The Clown Prince of Crime was once more sitting in the shadows, nursing a whiskey as his leg bounced of its own volition.

With only twenty four hours (less, if she slept, and Joker suspected that she had, based on the amount of booze she'd imbibed the previous night) in which to complete her challenge, Joker doubted that she'd come up with anything good. He denied the impulse to check the time, turning his thoughts to how he would punish her if she failed him.

He seemed to sense her in the vicinity...he glanced up to the silent stage to see her seating herself at the keyboard, adjusting the microphone with a slight scowl. Joker swept his tongue over his lips as he watched her settle in; it seemed she liked things just so...she even straightened the keyboard slightly before she leaned forward and spoke into the mic.

"Hey, I'm Dee. And this is a new one, actually:"

Her fingers trailed over the keys nimbly, as though they'd been playing the ballad for years. Then her voice came, unlike how he'd ever heard her before; low and soft, almost like a whisper.

_You say you're curious,  
><em>_Can't leave a thing to your imagination;  
><em>_I wish you'd close your eyes,  
><em>_But, oh, you seem so serious,  
><em>_I should enjoy the sweet interrogation;  
>You <em>_start to hypnotize me,  
><em>_I should not be telling you  
><em>_I'm flattered by your interest,  
><em>_Who am I talking to?  
><em>_Could be the demon with a mask,  
><em>_Why should I trust in you?  
><em>_I don't feel safe,  
><em>_I never did,  
><em>_But what else can I do  
><em>_but what you ask?_

Her eyes darted around the club every few seconds, undoubtedly searching for him. His dark eyes stayed locked on his target, his brain turning her words over again and again.

_Think of your darkest night,  
><em>_Think of your soul alone,  
><em>_If you can bear the sight  
><em>_think of the love you've never known,  
><em>_Yes, it's unusual  
><em>_to live your life this way,  
><em>_All I can say,  
><em>_Maybe that's why you don't see  
><em>_faces like mine every day  
><em>_You'd like to stir it up  
><em>_just like a sad, forgot until remember,  
><em>_I didn't ask for this;  
><em>_But still you hold me in your gaze,  
><em>_And from my lips  
><em>_the moments I have captured,  
><em>_Still I'm in reminiscence;  
><em>_From a place you'll never know  
><em>_I find the strength to tell you things I hardly ever show,  
><em>_My mirror holds your severed tongue  
><em>_But in your amber eyes  
><em>_I see the questions never end,  
><em>_I never could disguise  
><em>_So why pretend?_

As she went into the chorus a second time, her probing eyes finally found his and it looked like she nearly faltered for a moment. She held his gaze as she went into the refrain, Joker felt his lips pull down into a frown when terror wasn't the prime emotion there. He quickly corrected himself, however, keeping up a mask of stoic indifference.

_Who will forget me?  
><em>_No one knows I've done wrong,  
><em>_Won't you believe me?  
><em>_'Cause I won't last that long,  
><em>_No, I  
><em>_I wanna be quiet now,  
><em>_All alone,  
><em>_Back to my shadow,  
><em>_I'm gonna hide behind  
><em>_the trouble in my mind_

For a split second there was complete silence, fear slid into her eyes; she dropped them to the keys as the notes started again. Her hair fell in blond sheets, obscuring her face momentarily. Joker leaned back in his chair, satisfaction buzzing through him. _Knew she couldn't keep it up_, he thought smugly, his scars stretching as he smirked.

_You say you'll stay around,  
><em>_You've finally found the answer to my story,  
><em>_Congratulations, love  
><em>_So go ahead, decipher me  
><em>_And solve the puzzle if you need the glory,  
><em>_I wish I could be of your kind;  
><em>_I need to be alone,  
><em>_To tell you how much you don't know,  
><em>_It isn't what I've done  
><em>_but rather what I hold inside,  
><em>_Even if I give up  
><em>_I won't be victim to your game,  
><em>_You're only free when you have nothing left_

Her eyes finally returned to him again as she started the chorus one last time. When she pulled her hands from the keyboard Joker noticed that they were trembling violently. She met his gaze, looking slightly sheepish. He raised his eyebrows at her, jerking his head toward the back exit ever so slightly. He shot the rest of his whiskey, stood and made his way to the exit. She hadn't done as he'd expected. Rather, he hadn't pegged her as the kind that would do well under pressure. _Player two has entered the game_, Joker thought as he stepped out into the cool night, sniggering softly. _Wouldah been a __**shame **__if she'd lost that pretty __**voice**__._ He cackled to himself as he waited in the shadows of the alley he was in the previous night.

She was along soon enough. Joker knew it was her before he even spotted her; there was a nervous hesitation to her gait, a certain dread that was palpable in the air, which always came when one was knowingly walking into a situation such as hers. When she came to pass the alley he fell into step with her as though he'd been there all along. The singer startled and tripped over her own feet; she stretched out her arms, attempting to grasp at him to save her balance.

When Joker realized what she was doing he gave a bark of laughter and hopped out of her reach, cackling when she stumbled into the street before landing squarely on her ass. His interest was piqued when he noticed a truck advancing from down the road; glancing to his toy, she sat slightly dazed and rubbing her backside. The truck's headlights flooded over her and she froze, looking very much like a deer. When the driver blared his horn she startled and scrambled out of the way with a shriek. She was spared with only two feet between her legs and the vehicle's wheels, and continued to scrabble backward in panic, letting out a small sob as she watched the truck disappear into the distance.

Joker chuckled and moved to stand in front of her, "Do_n_'t you-ah k_no_w you're, uh, sup_pose_d to look _both_. _Ways_ before _cuh_-rossing the street?" he stretched out a hand and grinned when she took it and began to pull herself up. She was halfway through the process of standing when he tore out of her grip, she immediately dropped to the pavement once more. Joker let out a rumbling laugh at her yelp of surprise and kicked at her in glee. He gave her exactly two seconds to collect herself before he kept on in the direction of her house; behind him he heard her scrambling to stand and then a light jogging until she was beside him once more, looking quite put out.

"So, uh…" she panted nervously after a moment of silence. Joker peered at her from the corner of his eye. "Did I…win?"

Joker sucked a breath through his teeth and stared ahead as he thought about this. "You-ah d_i_dn't _lose_," he informed her. "B_ut_, the game is _faaarr_ from _ov_er," he flashed her a grin, as menacing as he could make it when he noticed her crestfallen expression. "_Now_," he began after a moment of quiet travel, "you did _okay_-ah, bu_t_-you're gonna have t_ooo_ step _up_ your _eff_orts as we con_tin_ue."

They arrived at a five story brick building, Joker swung open the front door and continued on without a word; he was quick to notice the way her steps slowed dramatically when they entered her building. There was no elevator, he was well aware of that already, so he headed straight for the stairwell. They were halfway to the third floor (_her_ floor), when she seemed to gather the courage to ask:

"So…what did I win?"

He was on her in a flash, pulling a strangled gasp from the girl's lips as her body was flattened against the wall of the landing, his gloved hand tightening around her delicate throat. Joker held his tongue until she turned her wide eyes up to his before he sneered, "Your _life_-uh. Is tha_t_…_e_-nough for you?"

His tongue probed at his right scar as he peered down at her. She must have been rubbing her eyes; her smoky, charcoal shadow and dark eyeliner were smudged so that they formed near rings around her eyes. When she didn't answer him he tightened his grip further until she squeaked and nodded quickly. "_Thought_ so," he muttered darkly as he turned from her and continued up the steps. She followed silently; from the corner of his eye, Joker could see that her head was down cast.

They reached her door and Joker heard the jingling of keys as she fished them out of her pocket. When he pulled out a copy and let himself into her apartment, she was left standing in the doorway with her mouth agape. He was quick to make himself at home; removing his jacket and hanging it neatly on the back of a kitchen chair, snatching the remote from the glass coffee table (his eyes lingered on the roses that still sat there with smug satisfaction) flipping on the television. He was on his way back into the kitchen when he glanced over and found that she hadn't moved from her spot in the doorway, and her jaw was still on the floor. "C'mon _in_," he invited jovially, as if she needed his permission.

He could hear the soft steps of her entering the apartment as he went into her cupboards for a glass, the click of the door as she shut it softly and to his surprise, the metallic _thunk_ of the deadbolt being turned over. Joker peered around the open freezer door to where she stood, his eyebrows raised, before sticking his face back into the cold box and procuring a few cubes of ice. He then reached up and opened the highest cupboard over the microwave to fish out a half-full bottle of Jameson.

"How do you know where everything is?" she asked; her voice was soft and shaky, but she had moved to stand closer to him, the kitchen table placed safely between them.

Joker nearly snorted. "Uh-How do y_o_u _think_?" he asked as he poured himself a liberal helping of whiskey. "_Whis_key?" he offered waving the bottle at her as he took a sip from his own glass. His eyes slid to her still form and she shuddered.

"Sure," she sighed, he raised his eyebrows as he took another sip before heading into the living room.

"Help your_self_," he stated, sniggering when she shifted away from him quickly as he passed her. He made himself comfortable on the couch, stretching his legs out to rest on the coffee table, and began surfing through the channels; in the kitchen, his toy made a drink. He could see her standing by the couch in his peripheral vision, and he nodded to the sofa. "_Sit_-uh."

She obeyed like a good toy, though she wedged herself into the corner as far as she could, her legs curled up in front of her and in her hand, a very tall glass of neat whiskey. She took a generous swig when she had settled in, making her face scrunch slightly in disgust; the action twisted her scar in a wonderful way. She coughed slightly and cleared her throat, and then immediately took another hearty sip.

"Ke_pt_ my _roses_," he noted smugly, nudging the flowers in question with the toe of his shoe.

"They're dying," she stated bitterly, as if this were a reasonable defense. Both of them eyed the roses, which were indeed wilting after half a week of life in a vase.

"Well, we're _all_ _dy_ing," Joker rebutted, peering at her from the corner of his eye. "_Ev_ery _min_ute-ah. They keep _longer_ if you change the water every, uh, few _days_."

"Flowers are _ugly_ when they die," she shot back; a desperate attempt to belittle the beauty of their existence, he could see right through it. Joker shrugged and took another sip of whiskey before returning his attention to channel surfing.

"_Well_, they _may_ ou_tli_ve you ye_t_," he suggested, leaving no question that the conversation was over. She finished the rest of her drink, setting her empty glass on the table with a trembling hand. Joker ignored her as he settled on a movie channel that was playing Bride of Chucky. They watched for fifteen minutes (or at least Joker did; he had the feeling _she_ wasn't paying attention) before a large yawn escaped her throat. Joker glanced over at her irritably. When the evil doll and his bride triggered an airbag to send nails flying into their victim, he burst out laughing.

"Do you-ah think, that'd actually _work_?" he questioned, but the girl only stared at him; yawning again after a moment. "Go to _bed_," he snapped. "If you aren't in the _spirit_ of the _movie_."

He glared at her, she looked incredibly startled. "B-bed?"

"Yeah, that, uh, _thing_ you _sleep_ on _ev_ery night? _Go_-uh," did he have to spell it out for her?

"But-"

"_Get!_" he roared, finally losing his patience, raising his glass as if to throw it at her, she squeaked and shot off the couch. "I'll-uh, _lock up_ on my way out!" he called after her as she shuffled to her room; he could no longer contain the fit of laughter that tore through him.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Well that's chapter three! A few quick notes, to give credit where credit is due: the songs Dee sings bits and pieces of in the shower were Stapled to the Mattress by Scarling and Fear of Dying by Jack Off Jill. The song she sings at the club for Round 1 is Faces Like Mine by Emilie Autumn, which I highly recommend checking out cuz it's one of the most hauntingly beautiful songs I've ever heard. It gave me chills when I realized how well it could tie into this plot.

A great big shout-out to **eye of the divine**, who has been aiding me TREMENDOUSLY on these last few chapters, as well as the upcoming ones! It is solely because of her help that I've been able to work through my blocks and get these chapters up for all of you, so show her some love and read and review _her_ Joker story, **Only the good die young**

Next up, Round 2! Wouldn't YOU like to know what it is! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA


End file.
